


Within this cloudier heaven

by MirrorShard (petroltogo)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover Pairings, Damaged!Ginny, Dimension Travel, Drabble Collection, F/M, Harry & Ginny friendship, Harry Potter Has a Saving People Thing, It's strictly platonic even if it doesn't always look like it, M/M, Magical Bonds And Their Consequences, Mental Instability, Mycroft IS the British Government, Post-Order of the Phoenix AU, Pretty much slow everything, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Suicide (not explicit), but they figure it out eventually, powerful!Ginny, powerful!Harry, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-06-01 20:44:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6535591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petroltogo/pseuds/MirrorShard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They've never met someone more powerful than they are and it's—intoxicating. Mycroft Holmes is intoxicating." </p><p>He was just walking down the street, minding his own business and mapping out his future as a virtual nobody in a magic-less world. In true Harry Potter fashion things did not go according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I: There

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THIS AN: I've been asked this multiple times because the beginning of this story can be a bit misleading. So. Please believe me when I say that the main (and pretty much only) pairing of this fic is MYCROFT/HARRY. Also the summary does in fact fit the fic I had in mind when I started writing it. It still does. But some readers got confused because this story starts out in the HP-world for the first 8 chapters, so rest assured: the following 92 chapters play in the Sherlock-verse and I stand by the summary I wrote. Just, please give me a little time to get there, okay? 
> 
>  
> 
> Part I plays entirely in the HP Universe, hence the title 'There'. It consists of eight chapters and will be written from Ginny's POV for reasons. Part II (titled 'Here') will play in the SH Universe and will be written from Harry's perspective.
> 
> This work is cross-posted on ff.net as well.

**In Between Worlds**

Ginny wakes up.

She wakes up and it's—fragmented.

The light comes first, bright and cold and blinding. Then comes the noise, excited voices, angry screams, pained sobs. There are hands touching her, clinging to her limp fingers, petting her hair, stroking her arms—holding on because they are afraid of letting go, like she'll slip through their fingers if they aren't too careful. Like they need to anchor her, here, now, before she drifts beyond their reach.

She doesn't tell them that it's too late.

She blinks.

The words come later. Questions. Pleas. Accusations. _How could you_ , they demand to know. _I know things haven't been easy for you_ , they assure. _He's gone_ , they whisper.

She blinks.

They get a medi-witch first—because it's practical and resources are tight and _the war has started_. Shock, the plump woman tells them and they believe her.

She blinks.

They take her to St. Mungos—because _she isn't getting better_ and _they refuse to give up on her_ and _they can't afford to keep her_. It's for your own good, they tell her and don't hear the twisted irony in their own words.

Irrevocable brain damage is the diagnosis that causes them to cry in grief and agony and _guilt_.

She blinks.

They keep her in a closed-off room with no sharp devices and colourless walls. They talk to her like she's a child as they feed her, wash her, take care of her. They say she won't get better. They say she's damaged beyond repair. They say the war will be over soon. They say everything is going to be alright.

They lie.

She blinks.

The red-eyed man comes eventually. His robes are the first spot of darkness she's seen in weeks and—she knows they've lost.

She blinks.

She doesn't fear this man, even though there's no reason for her not to. But. _He_ 's gone. _He_ 's moved on, to a place she can't seem to follow, and she's drifting, in between, almost _here_ but never truly _there_ , and she doesn't care about this world, doesn't care about any world—has only ever cared about _him_.

The red-eyed man looks, simply looks at her for a long moment. Then he smiles a lipless smile and—" _You've done well, child._ "—with a soundless pop he's gone.

She blinks.

She doesn't wake up in a closed-off room with no sharp devices and colourless walls the following morning.


	2. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say unconditional love like it's a gift. She says unconditional love like it's a poison. For Harry, it's both.

He's lying in a bed that smells like family and loss and he's not small, doesn't even look small, but there's something about pale cheeks and spidery fingers that makes him look _littler_ than ever before.

He doesn't turn around when she enters, but she doesn't mind.

"Here."

Her whisper breaks the silence and she watches the awareness awaken in his eyes, watches muscles tense and unvoiced questions write themselves into furrowed brows.

"It's potent. Quick. And painless," she says quietly, forcing the poisonous words out with nothing but unyielding determination to keep her going. The fragile vial in her hands looks almost unassuming, almost pretty, almost harmless. Just like her. An yet she is not. She won't fail him, can't fail him, and if it costs her _everything she is_ then it's a price she'll gladly pay.

Her hands are steady as she offers him the small vial with the most beautiful substance she's ever seen.

"It's your choice now. You can stay here. You can fight. You can do whatever they want you to do. Or you can- _go on_. But it's your decision now, your choice."

She swallows, dry and painful, because there are so many things she still needs to tell him and so many things she desperately wants to tell him. But she doesn't.

She tells him the things he needs to hear instead, the things that need to be said. The things that will allow him to make the choice he truly wants. Because that's all she wants for him, _everything he could ever wish for_ , and it's nothing less than the world owes him.

"Ron and Hermione are strong, they'll be alright."

 _I don't want you to go_.

"And as for the rest of the world, they don't matter. They can fight their own wars. And if they can't, well, they'll lose. But their fate is not your responsibility."

 _Don't leave me_.

"Your victory or defeat would be important, but only to us. Only right _now_. A thousand years from now there'll be other Dark Lords, other wars, each no more or less important than the one we're facing now. There'll be consequences if the Death Eaters win and they'll be terrible. But they won't damn the world _forever_. I- Our existence is- temporal. And so is our importance. A thousand years from now we will all be just a footnote in the history of this world."

 _Stay_.

She doesn't want to say these things. Doesn't even want to offer him this terrible, beautiful choice. Wants to find another way instead or make a compromise, anything else really. Only there is no other way. Not anymore. They've made sure of that. They've done their very best to ensure that their control can not be broken.

But.

You can not bind magic. You can not cage it. You can not control it.

There is always a way. And she wishes with all her heart she didn't have to be the one to show him, but—no one else is there to do it in her stead. And he needs _someone_ to do this. To make this about him and only him.

So she does.

She does it because when she looks at him, she sees a boy with eyes too bright for this world and a smile that tells too many lies. She sees a shooting star, breathtaking and alight and _falling_.

And later, when they rant and rave and rage, _when_ _it's too late to bring him back_ , she isn't surprised by his choice. Isn't surprised by their disbelief either.

Because she's always seen it. She's always been the only one who does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and reviews are always appreciated ;)


	3. Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's too young—too old—to leave him and he's too here—too gone—to make her.

They sit near the lake, just a couple of steps away from where he almost lost his soul a few days ago. She watches him stare off into the distance—at the spot where he _fought_ and _held on_ and _refused to give in_.

He's lingering and even now as he sits right by her side, safe and solid, she wonders what would happen should she reach out and touch him. If the tips of her fingers would be enough to dispel the illusion of his living, breathing body and reveal the see-through ghost of what he could have become.

Maybe she's too old now—too _young_ —to grasp these ghosts that are haunting him, to believe in them and understand them the way she once did. Or maybe she understands too much, understands how much effort it takes to keep breathing, to carry the weight of life after getting a first hint of what it might be _without_.

"I almost didn't try, you know." He says suddenly, his words so unexpected she flinches, yet filling the lulling quiet between them as naturally as the soft wisps of wind. "When I realised that I hadn't seen my dad, that it had been _me_ all along… I did it in the end, I cast the Patronus, but I wasn't sure it would work-"

 _I wasn't sure I wanted it to_.

"Do you regret it?" she asks, not because she wants to know, but because he wants to tell her and she lets him. She'll always let him.

"I don't know."

"Why?"

He blinks, his eyes a shade greener than she remembers them being and it's almost time for dinner, time to go back, time to return to laughter and people and life. But still he _lingers_. They both do.

"I killed a man with my own hands when I was eleven. I just- I just touched him and he _burned_."

There's something in the way he says it, a tone that isn't quite regret and not quite satisfaction either, and it's enough to make her understand what he's trying to convey.

There are a number of things she could tell him in response, things others have told her in the past year, again and again, until the words had lost all their meaning. Weak excuses that will never be enough to absolve her of the guilt, the responsibility, the taint.

 _You were just a_ _child_ , they keep insisting. _You didn't know. It wasn't your fault_.

"I petrified four people when I was eleven," she says instead.

He shakes his head a little, a not-quite-smile on his lips. But there's a silent yearning in him, filling his very being, and it saddens her in a way she can't yet grasp, won't understand until later, much later, when she'll look back and _see_.

"Do you think I'll go to heaven?" he asks eventually, his head tilted back as he stares at the sky above them with a raw yearning that belies every _I'm fine_ she's ever heard him say.

She swallows as the weight of his words sinks onto her shoulders and suddenly she's thankful that he isn't looking at her, has never _really_ looked at her, for reasons she doesn't understand but can't seem to be bothered about. She's glad because she doesn't think he's ready to see her tears, the tears she's crying for him that she hasn't yet learned to blink away. She turns her head away, stares at the setting sun instead.

It's strange how they've found each other again, to share this moment of quiet understanding. The same moment they've shared a year ago, when the Basilisk was dead and it was all over and said and done—leaving them behind with grime, blood, dust and _nothing else_.

She understands because she's been there, with him, _beside_ him once before—and now, a year later, they're back here, at this point neither of them ever wanted to reach. At this point neither of them can leave behind.

Lingering.

She can't decide whether that's a good thing or not, but she gives him the same answer she always does.

"Do you think you'll want to?"

He doesn't reply—he never does. She tells herself she doesn't mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading! Any thoughts? Questions? Interpretations? You know, there's always that handy comment section and I've heard it's even free to use... ;)
> 
> Next update: the prompt word for the next chapter is 'Deep' and it should be up on Monday or Tuesday.
> 
> Have a great weekend, everybody!


	4. Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't so much the beginning as it was the end.

It feels like a desperate gasp for air.

Like she's drowning, struggling, pulled under, until suddenly her head breaks through the surface of the water and she _breathes_. The air is stale, heavy enough to force a weak cough out of her lungs, and tainted by a smell that might have been blood but makes her think of death instead.

It's staggering in a way, disorienting, because one moment she's- not _gone_ , exactly, more faded out, like an old wallpaper that peels off on the edges, and then she's back, in her body, _there_ , aware and in control.

The stone floor feels cold and uncomfortable against her cheek, _too hard_ , _too harsh_ , and she wants to shy away from the sensation but she's _back_ and there's nowhere to go.

The light is dim, still too sharp and too bright for her senses, but almost bearable, and her eyes are adjusting slowly. Now that the haze has left her she sees clearer again—and yet, perhaps, not as clear as before.

She scrambles towards him the second she first catches sight of his body, motionless, still. Her movements are jerky and awkward and out of practice but she's not so much embarrassed as she's sad—sad about losing a sense of completion and perfection she can now barely remember, sad about _being back_. There's knowledge too, somewhere in the back of her mind, and maybe it's not as much knowledge as it is understanding, but it's just as important and she feels it, remembers it, even as it escapes her, dissipates and withdraws and slips away.

The body groans, the sound loud and unforgiving in ears that she can't remember hearing with in too long, maybe forever. Then his eyes flutter open and they're bright and green, the first colour she's seen since the haze has been lifted and it's—earth-shattering, is what it is.

Because she sees it in that unique shade of green, sees a smidgen of the _beyond_ she's been pulled back from, sees a half-formed understanding of something their minds are not meant to grasp, a shared desire for something life can not offer and she latches on to that, holds it with everything she has because—

It's the only thing that feels _real_ to her, in a world she's been returned to live in, a world she has already left behind, a world that can not live up to the memories she has of it.

He takes pulls her to her feet, none too gently, and she doesn't mind. It's soothing in a way, this, he, they. There's something about him that takes the edge of life away, something _already half-way gone_ , something _never truly there_ , and it calms her, grounds her in a way she's not aware she desperately needs.

Later she tells them it felt like waking up from a long, deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think?


	5. Seeking Solace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all was lost. Not at first. Not from the beginning.

"You look really pretty today," the dark-skinned boy tells her awkwardly. But the spark in his eyes is _alive_ and the smile on his lips doesn't lie and she tells herself she likes that.

"Thanks, you don't look all that bad yourself." The flirty reply comes easy, too easy perhaps, and she's almost disappointed when the boy's face flushes—just a little, because _he_ never gets flustered around her and she's not sure if that's supposed to bother her or not.

She's fourteen now, somewhere in between child and adult and it suits her surprisingly well. Perhaps she's gotten used to it by now, the _in between_ , so much so that she welcomes it, embraces it the way few teenagers do.

"Well, the day is young and the castle is contaminated by Umbridge, so let's get going!" the boy urges her gently and she laughs because it's a natural thing to do when faced with his broad smile.

The afternoon goes well after that, better than expected even, though she'll never admit it out loud. The dark-skinned boy is nice and friendly and easy to talk to. He doesn't touch her unnecessarily and when he does he observes her reaction, backs off as soon as she shows signs of discomfort. He compliments her, but never too much. He's nothing but sincere, real and _alive_.

On their way back the dark-skinned boy reaches for her hand and she lets him. His touch is warm and stable and comforting. He makes the world feel less like _memory_ and more like _reality_ , pulls her back a little form the beyond without even realising, and.

She likes it, she thinks. Remembers liking it at least. And it's not the same, not quite, not really and maybe never again, but—

 _He_ asks her if the dark-skinned boy makes her happy one day. She tells _him_ he makes her feel alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all you guys who are reading this and leave me kudos, you're awesome! I feel like this one is a bit of an interlude in that it doesn't focus on Harry and Ginny directly. But I believe it does a good job of showing her mindset, how she's functioning, with and without Harry... Let's see what you make of it!
> 
> By the way, I'm thinking of writing a short story (like three to five chapters) with Mycroft/Harry and Sherlock/Harry but absolutely no incest between the brothers. Would anyone be interested in something like that?


	6. Break Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were friends once upon a time, the three of them, and it was real and deep and lasting. Until one day it wasn't.

There's no fight. No argument. No clashing of forces beyond their power. Instead it's _silence_ in the place of friendly banter and _walking_ _one step farther away from each other than they used to_ and it's _hi_ instead of _how are you_. Maybe that's why nobody sees the signs for what they are, why nobody asks the questions that ought to be ask and in the end nobody notices until it's long over, buried in a forgotten past, blurred in the memories of people too busy living their own lives.

She watches though, because she always does, and she sees, like nobody else. Not as much as she used to perhaps, but still more, still deeper, still _him_.

Always _him_.

She watches the bushy-haired girl grow closer to her roommates, having finally found a certain appreciation for full lips and long eyelashes while the other girls have out-grown some of their flighty nature. It's a good match, she thinks, shallow and silly and intelligent, working their issues out at their own pace and learning from each other as they do.

She watches red-haired boy bloom into the young man she's always known he could become, finding his own strengths in a game he adores and connecting to like-minded people because of it. He's learning to stand on his own and stand tall in the face of others' critical gazes and she sees him develop, sees him rise eagerly to meet this new challenge on his own. He will be great, she thinks and knows it to be true somewhere deep in a heart she sometimes forgets is still beating.

She watches _him_. Watches the stars in his eyes shine brighter, watches them _fall_ and _fall_ and _fall_ until all she wants to do is reach out and _catch—_ but she doesn't because he doesn't want her to and what he wants is all she ever cared about.

She watches a friendship end peacefully, not broken, just quietly grown-apart, and she sees the possibilities, sees the new beginnings and open doors for a bushy-haired girl and a red-haired boy—she sees shooting stars and they aren't falling, they're _burning out_.


	7. Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not the end, except, in every way that matters, it really is. The power of a willing sacrifice is not to be taken lightly.

“Where is he?” the greasy-haired man yells, the tip of his wand glowing dangerously.

“Severus-“ The man by his side, old, greying, stronger than he appears, looks more frazzled than she’s ever seen him, and in that moment she knows.

“No! Someone broke through the wards, Albus! Potter is dying, I can _feel_ it! _Where is he_?”

She knows the greasy-haired man will do anything to reach _him_ in time.

She knows the old man won’t hold his friend back.

She knows she needs to stop them.

There’s still time to save _him_ and she can not allow that. Can not allow these selfish men to pull _him_ back from the beyond. Can not allow _him_ to have to endure her pain.

But she is just a young girl, facing off against the most powerful wizard of their time and the most dangerous spy either side of this war has ever gained.

“Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary, Miss Weasley?” the old man tries in vain to appease, to contain, to calm.

And, she doesn’t just know then. She _understands_.

Understands what is going to happen. Understands every decision, every choice, every undeniable conclusion. Understands the magic humming beneath her skin. Understands the pounding of her heart in her ears. Understands what Lily Potter must have felt almost sixteen years ago.

The sudden clarity is startling, breath-taking. Heartbreaking.

“There is nobody here,” she whispers in a voice she’s forgotten the use of a long time ago. “Just me.”

She sees the moment of realisation, sees black eyes flash with shock, disbelief, fury, sees raised wands and- it’s a story that has already been told, an ending that’s always been written in stone, a past the future can not change.

“Stand aside, Weasley!” It’s nothing but a deadly whisper, the final melody of a song she’s heard since her earliest childhood.

“No.”

Spells hit her before she has finished speaking, but it doesn’t matter. She won’t allow it to matter. Because they can rip away her wand, can rip away _him_ , but there’s still magic, _her_ magic, humming beneath her skin, coursing through her very blood, rising and building. There’s no ritual, no spell, only _fearangerdeterminationdesperation_ —love.

She opens her eyes, ignorant of the pulsing blood dripping down her left arm, the gentle smile on her face. Allows herself one last moment to memorise their faces, the faces of the men she wants to destroy, the faces of the men  _he_  needs her to stop.

Then, she _lets go_.

Magic is running through her veins, her fingertips, her body’s every cell. It’s s storm she can not direct, a wave she can not hold back, a force she can not control. It’s wild, rampant and savage, yet willing, gleeful even, to fulfil her command. It’s destructive and unforgiving, cold and harsh, punishing and relentless. It’s the tearing of a core not meant to be unbound, the blood and searing pain of its vessel, the shattering of a mind that can not withstand the onslaught of _all there is and all there ever was_.

She falls. The magic doesn't.

It's a fitting end.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time, sorry about that! But I finally managed the next drabble, which, let me tell you, was a pain to write. Not sure why I struggled so much with it *shrug* By the way, believe it or not, this chapter isn't just drama and self-sacrifice, it actually contains an important plot point. Or two. Any ideas? Also we're almost finished with Ginny's POV, the next chapter will be the last from her side of things.


End file.
